The Devil and Danna Webster

by Jacqueline Seewald

  “That was yesterday,” I said. So they’d been discussing me, that sucked!

  “He was here today again, wasn’t he?”

  “You might as well know; he wants to take me out.”

  “He’s older though, isn’t he?” My mother’s brow furrowed.

  “Just a couple of years.”

  “Your dad thinks he’s been around, that’s he’s worldly.”

  I shrugged. “Kevin might be a trifle sophisticated.”

  “Don’t you think the first boy you date ought to be someone a little less experienced, maybe a boy your own age?” She smoothed her cotton apron over her ample hips.

  “Mom, I don’t know what the fuss is about. I’m not a baby! And Kevin isn’t some maniac. He’s really very nice and he has a great sense of humor.”

  “It sounds as if you’ve already made up your mind about him.” Her brow wrinkled.

  “Not really. I don’t actually know him that well, but he is interesting. The boys my age seem immature next to him.”

  “Now you sound just like Lori!”

  Lori again. What was that about? “I wish I could talk to Lori — maybe she would have understood.”

  Tears welled up in my mother’s eyes. She hurried out of the kitchen. What had I said that was so terrible? Yes, Mom’s sister was dead and I mentioned her, but was that any reason for Mom to get so emotional? And they thought I was immature!

  Then my stepfather rolled into the kitchen. He smashed the wheel of his chair into the leg of the kitchen table. “What did you say to your mother?” His face flushed with anger.

  “I didn’t mean to upset her.” I started toward the hall.

  “Where are you going?” he called after me.

  “I’m going over by the ocean to do a little sketching.” His behavior was making me nervous. I wanted to get away until he chilled out.

  “It’s almost dark!”

  “I’ll just be gone a little while.”

  I didn’t wait for a response; I just picked up a sketch pad and drawing pencils from my room and left quickly. I wanted to be left alone. I needed to escape. It seemed to me that my parents were the most unreasonable people in the world. I headed for the beach. I found myself a comfortable spot and began to work. In my drawing, I caught the rhythm of the waves against the sand and the swooping movement of the gulls.

  I must have been sketching for about twenty minutes when I suddenly became aware of the presence of someone near me. I looked up and there, of all people, stood Gar Hansen. The setting sun created a halo around his golden hair.

  “That looks so real,” he said, glancing down at my sketch. “I’m impressed.” He studied my work more closely.

  “It’s nothing special,” I said, feeling embarrassed.

  “You have a unique way of seeing. I don’t know much about art, but I know talent when I see it.”

  I wasn’t certain how to respond to such a generous comment, so I tried to change the subject. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to tutor you.”

  “It really isn’t necessary.”

  “Hey, I said I’d help you.”

  “I told you not to bother. Don’t do me any favors.”

  “Who said I was?” He shoved his hand through a shock of gold-tipped hair. “Look, I want to help you. And there’s no time like the present. Let’s get started.”

  In a daze, I followed him to his car, a beat-up VW Bug that he’d parked close-by.

  “We can study here,” I told him. “I like being by the ocean.”

  “That would be fine with me, but it’s getting dark. Besides, your mother asked me to bring you back to the house. She said she needed to see you about something. You better go back and talk to her.”

  “You were at my house? Of course, they told you I was here, didn’t they?”

  He grinned at me. “You got it.”

  So he’d seen the house, how shabby it was and all. I was mortified. But he was acting very nice to me anyway. Had I completely misjudged him?

  “Your car has character,” I said.

  He smiled. “Like my wheels? I paid for this heap myself out of my summer earnings. My dad tells me that he did the same thing when he was my age. I fit auto shop into my schedule for this year so maybe I can learn something about maintaining it.”

  “Has it been giving you much trouble?”

  “Let’s just say lemons don’t only grow on trees.”

  “Would your father buy you a new car if you asked him?”

  “Sure — if I asked him, but I don’t plan on it.”

  My parents were in the living room when Gar and I entered the house.

  “We’ve already met,” my father said, cutting short my tentative introduction.

  “Danna hasn’t eaten yet,” my mother said. “Maybe you would join us in the kitchen? We’ve got plenty.”

  “Thank you but I’ve already had an early dinner,” Gar replied. “Football practice makes me extra hungry.”

  “Could you handle some ice cream?” Mom asked.

  “I can always handle ice cream,” he told her, with a flash of that cute grin of his. I saw my mother smiling back. He did have a nice manner with parents, polite and respectful. Had I imagined he was arrogant? He followed my mother into the kitchen. My father came with us, asking all sorts of questions.

  “Dad, Gar is here to tutor me in geometry, that’s all! Mom, I can eat later.” I was really annoyed with both of them.

  “That’s all right,” Gar replied. “You eat now. I can wait. Besides, I really am in the mood for ice cream.”

  “Vanilla fudge all right?” Mom asked.

  Gar gave her a thumbs up. “My favorite.”

  We all sat down around the kitchen table together, and I tried to choke down some dinner while my dad talked football with Gar. They seemed to get on well. In fact, I had never seen my stepfather talk so much to anyone. He appeared to take an instant liking to Gar. Even my mother was captivated. There was no denying that Gar Hansen had a disarming friendly manner when he chose to display it. Mom dished out the vanilla fudge, but I wondered if Gar wasn’t dishing out his own fudge.

  “So what does your father do?” my dad asked.

  I choked on a slice of bread and began to cough. But Gar took the question in stride.

  “Dad’s a tax attorney.”

  “So you want to be a lawyer too?”

  “Not certain, just yet. I’ve been considering engineering. All I know is that if I can get in, I want to go to Princeton.”

  My parents looked impressed. He might as well have told them he planned to become President of the United States like Ronald Reagan.

  “Well, maybe we better get started on that tutoring now,” I said, somewhat awkwardly.

  “Why don’t you work in the living room?” Mom suggested. “The light is best in there.” My parents remained in the kitchen while Gar followed me out.

  “I‘ll get my book,” I told him.

  My mother joined me in my bedroom. “Awfully nice boy,” she said.

  “Maybe,” I replied.

  “Oh, he is,” she said. “Your dad and I both think so. He’s got his head on straight.”

  “Whatever that means.”

  “Don’t be such a sour apple! I think he likes you, Danna.”

  I shrugged. “He’s only here to tutor me, that’s it. He’s very popular. There are tons of girls after him. He can pick and choose. Believe me.”

  “We’ll see,” my mother said. She gave me her exasperating I-know-better-than-you-do look.

  “Besides, I thought you didn’t want me seeing boys.”

  “Well, your dad and I both realize that eventually you are going to start dating. We’re just concerned that it be with someone decent.”

  “I don’t know if you can really tell about that from outward appearances.”

  “Maybe not,” Mom agreed, “but it’s an indication.”

  I wasn’t convinced, except there really wasn’t any poin
t in arguing with my mother. She didn’t understand. We were too far apart in our thinking. It made me feel sad because she and I had always agreed about basic things. But once my mother decides on something, she doesn’t change her mind easily. There’s a generation gap between us. Her thinking is old-fashioned.

  Gar was looking at the display of my stepfather’s medals on the mantle when I returned.

  “You must be very proud of your father,” he said.

  His comment surprised me. I had always felt ashamed of my stepdad because he was confined to a wheelchair. But I kept my thoughts to myself.

  We got down to work. It amazed me how good Gar was at explaining things. He had the patience that Joyce lacked. In fact, he was very encouraging and I felt easier when he finished helping me than I had since starting geometry. Of course, I did have the benefit of Joyce’s expertise earlier.

  “You really are picking this up quickly. I know it’s not easy.”

  “You’ve made it seem easy,” I told him. We were sitting side by side on the sofa. I felt his shoulder brush up against mine. Then I glanced over at his profile and couldn’t help thinking how handsome he was. The lamplight favored him. He touched my hand in a gentle way. I found that small gesture disturbing but in a good way.

  “I’ll come over and help you again when I have time. Until the football season is over though, it’s really going to be at odd moments.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t mind.”

  “So tell me about yourself,” he said. He seemed genuine in his interest.

  I was suddenly feeling self-conscious and not liking it. “Not much to tell. I’m an only child and I’ve always lived here in this cottage near the ocean.”

  “And you’re a very talented artist.”

  I felt my face turn red. “I don’t know about that.”

  He took my hand in his much larger one. “I know about it. Your folks showed me your paintings.”

  “They shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Why not? They’re proud of you.”

  I didn’t think that was true, but I decided not to make a comment.

  “Your turn,” I said, feeling decidedly uncomfortable. “Tell me about you.”

  “Not much to tell either. I have two younger brothers and we live with my dad.”

  “Not with your mom?” I asked.

  “She’s gone.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize she was dead.”

  “Dead to us. But no, my mom went off to find herself, at least, that’s what she told us. She divorced Dad, left all of us. We get a card at Christmas. That’s pretty much all the contact we have with her these days. She’s in California.”

  “I didn’t mean to be nosy.” I trained my eyes on the worn carpet.

  “You weren’t. I didn’t have to tell you. Besides, the parents of a lot of kids are divorced. It’s common.”

  “Maybe your father will remarry.”

  He shook his head. “I doubt it. We get along okay without her. It was hard when the guys were really little but now things run pretty smooth.”

  For the first time since meeting Gar, I felt really sympathetic toward him. He was wearing a short-sleeved, blue knit shirt, open at the throat, which set off his sky, blue eyes. Only his nose wasn’t perfect, the slightest bump on the bridge, which only seemed to enhance his features and give his face more character. Sinewy muscles rippled beneath his shirt as he moved.

  “You’re staring at me, Danna. Is anything wrong?”

  “No, I didn’t realize I was staring. I guess my mind was drifting for a moment.”

  He gave me an easy smile. “That’s okay, you’re not expected to function like a machine.” We sat together for a time, just looking at each other.

  “You’re different than I thought you were at first.” I blurted out the statement without thinking and then knew it was a mistake.

  One golden eyebrow rose. “How do you mean different?”

  I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. “I thought you were stuck-up, but that was before I got to know you today.” I realized I might have been guilty of making a hasty judgment. I could have been a tad unfair in my appraisal of Gar.

  “Truth is, I feel awkward around girls.”

  I stared at him. “You? You’re so popular. I don’t believe it!”

  His eyes didn’t meet mine. “There are reasons. But you seem different from most girls. I feel as though a guy could trust you.” He leaned over and I held my breath because I had the funny feeling that Gar Hansen was about to kiss me. But just then, the telephone rang. The sound of it jarred both of us and shattered the mood.

  “Pick up the phone,” Mom called out. “It’s for you.”

  I picked up on the extension in the living room and said “hello.”

  “Is that you, Danna?”

  I gasped. I would have recognized his well-modulated voice anywhere. “How did you get my phone number?”

  “I badgered my sister until she gave me your last name. Then I cleverly opened the phone book and looked up your number. So how’s that for detective work? Think I’m ready to open my own agency?”

  “Why not?”

  “Then maybe I could hire you to be my secretary.”

  “Sorry, I don’t type very well.”

  “Who cares?”

  In spite of myself, I laughed. I forced myself to be stern. “Why did you call?”

  “Just wanted to talk to you, hear your voice again.”

  I glanced over at Gar and saw that he was listening, watching intently. “I can’t talk right now,” I told Kevin.

  “Hey, trying to get rid of me?”

  “No, I have company. I really have to go.”

  “Okay, but I’m meeting you tomorrow.”

  “Right, tomorrow.” I quickly hung up.

  Gar got stiffly to his feet. “You didn’t have to stop your conversation on my account. I’m leaving now anyway. I’ll contact you again so that we can set up another appointment for tutoring. Thank your parents for their hospitality.” His voice had become formal, cold, aloof. I mourned the passing of that special moment that had happened between us, the loss of intimacy. I wondered if I had only imagined that he was about to kiss me. After all, I didn’t have any experience. So how could I know for certain? And yet, deep down I felt he’d liked me a lot in that moment and I’d felt the same.

  I didn’t see Gar again until lunch period the next day. As I went up to the line to buy my milk, I observed him sitting with his friends. For just a second, our eyes met. It was a jarring contact. Then we both looked away.

  As I was finishing lunch, he strode over to my table. He looked down at me with what appeared to be a superior air. “I just wanted to tell you that I won’t be able to manage another tutoring session for a while, too busy.”

  I was saved the embarrassment of a reply by the appearance of Caron Moore. “I’ve been looking for you,” she said to Gar. “I thought we could get together this afternoon.” She placed her hand on his bicep with what seemed to me as a possessive gesture. He shrugged it off.

  “After practice maybe.” Then he walked away with Caron following.

  “How do you know Gar Hansen?” Phyllis asked moon-eyed.

  I explained about the tutoring.

  “Some girls have all the luck! I would do anything for an introduction to him,” she said. “There is no justice. I’m good in math and don’t need tutoring. Dumb girls like you do better with guys. You could introduce me though.”

  “For all the good it would do you!” Joyce remarked. I guess she took umbrage on my behalf about the dumb girl crack.

  Phyllis frowned at Joyce. “You can never tell. He just might prefer a girl who’s pleasantly plump. I read an article about guys who are chubby chasers. They like full-figured girls like me. Although I have to admit, Caron Moore is tough competition.”

  “She really is chasing him,” Joyce agreed, adjusting her eyeglasses. “Anyway, I think they’re both a couple of snobs.”

&nb
sp; “He can be nice,” I ventured. Both Joyce and Phyllis gave me hard looks and I felt myself blush. Why couldn’t I hide my feelings better? “But then I don’t know him that well either,” I added.

  Joyce wanted to get together in the afternoon, except I had already arranged to help Ms. Meade again. Working with Ms. Meade was really the best part of my day. I was very good in pastels and fair in watercolors and acrylics, but when it came to oil, my strokes were awkward. Ms. Meade helped me with the seascape I was working on in my spare time.

  “It’s not very good, is it?” I sighed.

  “On the contrary, it’s coming along very well,” she assured me. “I’ve seen many seascapes, but your work has a unique quality to it. It’s good you’re not just copying other people’s work. You’re developing an original style and that takes time. Don’t be concerned if you make mistakes. Everyone learns by trial and error.”

  In many ways, she was easier to talk to than my mother. Maybe it was because Ms. Meade was younger, but there was also something more. My mother seemed weary, almost tired of life while Ms. Meade was full of energy and assurance. I admired that about her. I also respected her knowledge of art. I wanted to learn everything I could from her. I wanted to be like her.

  “Can I ask you a question that has nothing to do with art?” She looked a little surprised but nodded. “There’s this boy who wants to go out with me and I think I like him, only my parents and my friend disapprove of him. If you were me, would you go out with him anyway?”

  She was thoughtful. “Not an easy question to answer. I’d have to analyze why the people who care about me didn’t approve of this boy. There must be a reason.”

  “But if you thought they were wrong?”

  She hesitated. “Well, I suppose I’d want a chance to decide for myself.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate the advice.”

  “I’m not certain I provided you with any advice. Do let me know what happens.” I saw the look of genuine concern on her face.

  It was four o’clock before I knew it. I cleaned my brushes and put away my paints and smock. And then I saw Kevin standing in the doorway.

  He appeared a little uneasy. “Am I interrupting?” he asked.

  Ms. Meade looked Kevin over. Our eyes met and I realized that she knew this was the boy I had been talking about.